Wednesday, November 20, 2024

I Am Just Junco

 

Picture yourself standing at the edge of a dock.

Now picture being lost in your own head, utterly unsure of yourself, surrounded by people who want to use you, take you away, or simply kill you.

This is Junco Coot, aged 19, year 2152, daughter of the Rural Republic’s ranking commander. Assassin, semi-famous athlete, and on the run.

In front of you is your future...

A future filled with secrets so heinous and truths so outrageous, it will push you past the edge of sanity.

…and behind you is a life of lies.

Lies that will rip apart the threads of reality barely holding you together.

Congratulations, soldier. Your life is over, but your mission has only just begun.

Welcome to my twisted, messed-up life. No one’s getting out alive, so we might as well kick some ass on the way down.

I Am Just Junco is a dark, epic SF/fantasy that spans five full-length novels and one novella. It is NOT young adult.

The final book in the series, RETURN, will be released on December 2, 2013.

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EXCERPT FROM RETURN

Lucan—Amelia Habitat

Tier defied my order to kill Junco when I saw she was unstable. And then Junco defied everyone. And they came home together. My son delivered to me the one being in this universe who could kill me. It was like an offering. I was stunned. Junco made me very uncomfortable. She looked me in the eye when she spoke. She brushed off my commands like they were requests. She decapitated Fledge members, both friend and foe alike, and she gave up her life for my son.


And she is so, so sweet when she’s calm and still.


How badly do I wish that I had more calm and still moments with Junco?


I might’ve fallen in love with her sitting in my living room watching her play a piece on the piano, so oblivious to the world she never even knew I’d entered the room, even though I came home by the front door that night.


Then I started telling her things, and then she started telling me things. Very, very personal things. And I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to feel about a young woman who was created to kill me, but stole my heart instead. I hate the way she was raised. I hate that she was trained. I hate the fact that she’s never had anyone keep their word and stick by her side.


All of this bothers me. It keeps me restless when I should be relaxed, it keeps me tense and angry, and makes me rage when I’m in private and I think about it too long.


Amelia stirs and brings me back to the present. I lean down into her neck and kiss her just below her ear. She sighs in her sleep.


I love Amelia in a different way. I don’t want to make another Amelia when this is over. I’m not sure I have the desire to spend the time required to fashion another companion. And not because I’m lazy, but because I feel in my heart that Amelia is a soul and she can’t be replaced. Even if I used the same programming, made the same body, that woman would not be my Amelia.


Because souls are not interchangeable.


So what choice do I have? This last task must be done.


I kiss her lips now and she wakes enough to respond to my advances. She rolls over and turns into me, resting her head on my chest.


How long have I waited for this perfect woman?


How long have I waited for my Seven?


My fingers caress the soft pale skin of her neck and this makes her sigh. She’s still half asleep, her breathing less slow now, her heart rate picking up as she sheds her slumber. My palm rests against her windpipe and I kiss her again.


“I love you,” I whisper.


I squeeze, causing her to open her eyes for the last time and look up at me in confusion.


I want to let go of her, take her in my arms, and plead for her to forgive me.


But I don’t. I crush her neck and in a few seconds it’s over. Since she is the entity which controls this entire habitat all the lights go out and all the environmental life support machines cease.


Her perfect body, limp.


Her perfect mind, gone.


I would rather kill her myself than let my father take her as a punishment in my cycle.


Because that’s what love is.


Protection.

 

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